Changing Seasons

A poem about my favorite time of year, Autumn

Morning minces in, like a
tiger with a thorn in its toe.
No more blast of heated air
to set the sky on fire, aglow.

Seasons are changing...turning
cooler just by shyest innuendo.
A slip of a breeze that will freeze
just before it turns to go.

Clouds hover nearly overhead
before rising and sailing away slow.
Soon those clingy clouds will come
with a taste of white and drifting snow.

Nothing lasts forever so it seems,
we must pack our memories to stow,
so that one day we may unpack them
for spring’s sprightly, burgeoning show.